North Star Cruises Alaska's Wild West
the town, with its assortment of wooden build
ings and cabins, finally took shape. Tents of
the thousand visiting Eskimos, who gather
here every summer from Cape Prince of Wales,
Little Diomede, coastal villages, and inland
rivers to visit, trade, catch seals, and put up
dried salmon, extended the village at each end.
The entire water front was lined with racks
of drying salmon and strips of black, stringy
meat that I mistook for eels.
"Beluga whale meat," an Eskimo informed
me.
"This is Eskimo chocolate."
Scores of morose-looking dogs were staked
under the racks. A ventilating sea wind swept
the village.
Many of the dogs were suffering what could
only be described as a dog's life. Some were
fed only every other day, and I saw few water
cans set out for the wretched creatures.
An old miner left stranded on an Arctic
stream when the tide of gold seekers ebbed,
beckoned me into his tiny neat cabin. He
had turned his hand to many jobs since he
went over Chilkat Pass in '98.
"Interested in dogs, eh? Well, I'm an old
dogteam musher. . . I always found it paid
to treat dogs squarely, just like you'd treat
any partner. When these ill-treated Eskimo
dogs get tired, they'll quit; mine always
carried on through a sense of loyalty and
duty."
Good Times or Bad, Eskimos Smile
Straddling a stool in "Alaska's farthest
north cafe," I found prices about 220 percent
higher than in Seattle. For dessert I strolled
out into the tundra and picked blueberries.
Wandering along Kotzebue's water front, I
could view the life of the town and acknowl
edge the heart-warming smiles of the Eskimos.
These happy people baffled the airborne tour
ists arriving on Wien Alaska Airlines planes.
The natives' cheerfulness especially confounds
those who share the common belief that hap
piness stems from security, material posses
sions, and a kindly climate, none of which the
Eskimos count among their dependable assets.
When a plane arrives, little girls grab up
baby sister or brother or borrow a neighbor's
child. Stuffing the infants into their mothers'
oversized parka hoods, the enterprising girls
promenade up and down the main street.
Tourists all want to film the "little mother."
The take of candy and gum is considerable.
Exploring the town, I found the editor of
a new weekly newspaper, the Mukluk Tele
graph, down on his hands and knees actually
manicuring his tiny lawn with small scissors.
"This is the most northerly lawn in Alaska,"
he said proudly as he clipped another blade
of grass.
The Mukluk Telegraph carries the Eskimo
version of a society page-belugas (white
whales) harpooned, salmon netted, umiaks
(large open skin boats) arriving and depart
ing, berries picked, also all the scandal about
the whites.
To maintain a steady flow of news from all
points north to Barrow and south to Nome,
the editor pays his Eskimo correspondents in
precious dried salmon.
Beauty Contests, Eskimo Style
On July 4 the Mukluk Telegraph held a
beauty show modeled after a Florida bathing
beauty contest seen in a newsreel at the Mid
night Sun Theater. Ninety-eight percent of
the spectators were Eskimos.
Whistling,
smirks, and nudging were nil, for all the judges
could see of most of the 21 contestants was
pretty heads peeking out of the hoods of full
length fur parkas; so they judged the parkas,
too. A full-blooded Eskimo girl in a reindeer
parka won.
The Fourth of July fireworks at midnight
were not a success. The sun was shining.
From Kotzebue our staunch vessel headed
northward around Point Hope and Cape Lis
burne for Wainwright and Point Barrow.
As we cruised along the open coast, Captain
Salenjus kept a weather eye to seaward for
the Arctic ice pack, which is never far off.
The restless, grinding mass of billions of tons
of ice, averaging 10 feet thick, covers 2,000,
000 square miles of the Arctic Ocean at the
top of the world like a white skullcap. Shift
ing constantly with winds and currents, the
ice pack has trapped and crushed many ships.
"I don't want to see any more ice than will
tinkle in a highball glass," one officer remarked.
"One of the secrets of ice navigation," the
captain said, "is to keep the ice on the offshore
side; then the worst the ice can do is shove
you up on the mud."
Northernmost Town Under U. S. Flag
After a short stop at Wainwright we an
chored off Barrow, northernmost town in
Alaska. I counted 80 buildings on the low
shore; they gave Barrow an impressive sky
line for an Arctic community. Since the war,
work on a U. S. Navy oil project has swelled
the population from 363 to nearly a thousand.
Scores of Eskimos crowded up our gangway
from launches, searching for the "cook's
steward" to buy gum and candy. Looking
down into one launch, I saw eager, upturned
faces of 50 Eskimo girls, framed prettily in
the fur ruffs of their parkas.
Navigation ashore was almost as precarious
as at sea. Walking the town streets, I skirted
numerous mud holes where the treads of giant
tractors hauling freight on sledges to the hos
pital, school, and store had chewed down to